


Time and Relative Dimensions in Space

by Polly_Lynn



Series: TARDIS-Verse [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post Kill-Shot (4 x 09) vignette. Nothing to do with Doctor Who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Relative Dimensions in Space

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first stories I wrote. I had no idea that I would write more stories employing this concept, but currently I've written twenty set in seasons 4 and 5. I'll order the series in "show chronology" with notes indicating the order in which I wrote them.

_One more circuit,_ Castle thinks. The November evening is beyond dark, and the cemetery, he supposes, had closed hours ago. Not that anyone will bother him. Ernie, the night security guard, has a bartender's instinct for when to offer Castle a slug of coffee from his thermos (or a nip from his flask) and when to give him nothing more than wide berth and a nod.

Castle stops dead as he reaches his destination, the no man's land halfway between the overgrown headstone of _Milton Reed, 1921–1948,_ and _Laurel Stiles, Beloved Wife, Devoted Mother._

Nothing marks the spot any more. The evidence flags and police tape are long since gone. By the end of the summer, even the grass had recovered from the feet, machinery, equipment that had scoured the spot and come up with nothing more than the certainty that someone had stopped here and waited for just the right moment to murder Kate Beckett.

Even now, months later, Castle usually feels just a spark of certainty _(hope)_ that he will find something here: Some overlooked scrap of evidence, a guilt-ridden witness who'd been afraid to come forward, a hare-brained theory that might pull him—pull _her—up, out, over, past . . . everything. Forward._

Tonight, though, the spark keeps its distance. He stares fixedly at the ground, face tight, hands clenched. Tonight, he is . . . what? _Furious? (yes) Miserable? (definitely) Hopeless. (maybe)_

Beckett is fine. Well, not fine. But fin _er_. He'd done the right thing, asking Esposito to help her. Letting Esposito help her. Stepping back. Smoothing things over, hanging back in the bullpen.

He'd done the right thing. She'd thanked him.

He deserves a little time right now to fall apart. To let the bottom drop out of his stomach at the memory of the lingering smell of alcohol on her skin. ( _Skin she'd scrubbed to angry red. It had to have been painful._ ) To choke past the panic at the blood-soaked bandage on her wrist. ( _One wrist, not both. An accident. Just an accident._ )

Something breaks the spell. He starts, suddenly wondering how long he's been standing there, staring the spot of cold ground. He winces as he uncurls one fist, then the other. Long enough for the ragged ends of his fingernails to draw blood. _Enough,_ he thinks, _Time to go._

Castle puts his back to the city and turns up the collar of his coat, hunching against the wind. However long he'd been standing there, it had gotten cold. _Or maybe it's just me._

He picks his way through the neat rows of headstones. He has one more stop to make, but he isn't in a hurry.

In the distance, a sudden light appears, teasing pale, eerie fire from the marble. _Ernie._ Castle thinks about ducking into the shadows. The light is closing in fast on Castle's destination. _Not Ernie,_ his heart iss suddenly in his throat. Ernie's pace iss always leisurely, and he almost never uses a light.

Castle picks up his own pace, cuts left, and angles between the headstones to circle behind to intercept . . . Ernie after all. Castle opens his mouth to ask what the hell is going on, but the guard holds up one hand, gesturing with the other toward Roy Montgomery's headstone.

* * *

 

She looks small, sitting there cross-legged on the ground. Ernie shrugs at Castle and gestures again. _It's ok,_ Castle mouths and waves him off. Ernie gives him a long look, then nods and switches off his light, fading back into the shadows.

Castle takes three steps toward her and stops. _Space._ _Right._ He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to follow Ernie's steps back to the West gate.

"It's ok, Castle," she calls out suddenly, attention still fixed on the headstone in front of her. "You can stay. If you want."

He stops and faces her, but doesn't move any closer. "I don't want to bother you."

She turns, an unexpected—well, it isn't a grin, exactly, but something grin-like—piercing the shadows, "I'm sitting in the dark. On a grave. Where I got shot. You're not bothering me."

He starts toward her, slowly. "That's a first, then."

Beckett doesn't quite laugh, either, but the grin-like thing stays.

_Dangerous,_ Castle thinks and looks away to minimize his chances of doing something stupid.

The headstone is neat as always. The bouquet of black beauties has wilted slightly. Evelyn had probably been by on Tuesday. As far away as possible from the bouquet, almost hiding around the side of the headstone, is a tiny stone pot. Inside, the surface is covered with a short, coarse stubble of determined-looking grey-green stalks. Castle crouches for a closer look.

"Lavender," she says. "I hate the half-dead flowers, and I didn't . . ."

"It'll be beautiful in the spring." Castle fills the silence when she trails off.

Beckett nods. Her gaze drops to her lap. She blinks as though she is surprised to find a small rectangle resting on her crossed ankles. She slips her palm under it and the grin-like thing resurfaces briefly.

"Yours?" she asks holding it out to him.

Castle hesitates, then gently plucks it from her fingers. His own sneering face stares back at him, bookended by Ryan and Esposito and their matching sneers and black pompadours. "No. Must be Ryan. He really wanted the Captain to be there."

He holds the snapshot out to her, but she shakes her head and nods towed the gravestone. He slips it into a groove in the headstone's base, propping it up out of the damp.

"I don't . . ." Castle hesitates. "Lavender is nice. I don't bring anything. I always . . . stop by before I leave, but I don't bring anything."

"But you come." Beckett shifts, drawing her knees into her chest, knotting here fingers around her calves. "Ryan comes. Evelyn . . ."

"And you come into the precinct. Every day." Castle settles into a sitting position. "Even days like today."

They sit together in silence for a while. Castle has just made up his mind to go, all in the name of _space_ and _doing the right thing,_ when she speaks. "He's not here."

"No, he's not." Castle tries to keep his eyes safely on the headstone.

"Six months. No embalming." Beckett unclasps  her hands and places one palm on the ground. "It's just a box in a hole in the ground."

"A really gross box." It slips out. He wants to kick himself.

But she laughs, or something like it. "Temperature, water, and time. Skin pigment fades. Everything collapses . . . " She breaks off, spine stiffening. "I'm sorry, you probably think . . ."

"It doesn't bother me." Castle tips his head to look at her. "You should see my notes from my crash courses with Dr. Death."

Beckett nods. "It helped me . . . after my mom. I sat in on pathology classes, forensics. It helped me to know."

"Is that how you got to know Lanie?" Castle asks after a moment. "Wanting to know?"

"Later on," she says. "I was still in uniform. She'd take me by the arm and walk me in from perimeter duty, right past the detectives. 'This is postmortem. No color in the surrounding tissue'." Her imitation is better than passable.

Castle smiles against his knees. He likes these glimpses into how she'd gone from being Katie to being Beckett. "She's a good teacher."

Silence falls again. Castle's hands comb through the dead grass. He wants to change the subject, make her laugh again. He wants to help. Which seems to mean keeping quiet at the moment. He sucks at that.

Beckett turns her head to look at him, resting her cheek against her knee. "I don't think it's weird that you don't bring anything."

"I don't think it's weird that you don't come here." Castle meets her eyes. "Usually."

A corner of her mouth quirks up. He know she can practically  _hear_ him not asking why she'd come here tonight. "It's . . . kind of an assignment."

"Ah." He looks away to keep a half dozen questions from tumbling out.

"Not to see the Captain." She's watching him carefully. "I needed to come here."

"Oh." Castle swallows hard. Memories surface of her blood, black against the grass in the bright sunlight. He shudders. "I don't come to see him. I . . . it seems rude not to stop by and say . . . something, but I . . . I don't spend a lot of time. Right here."

"You don't have to stay," she say quickly.

Hurt flashes across his face for just a moment and then he is unfolding himself. "Yeah, sorry, I'll give you some space."

"Castle, that's not .  . . " She plants her right hand on the ground and braces to push herself up. She winces. Pain from something. "God _damn_ it."

He's on his knees at her side in a second. "Kate! Let me see it!"

"Castle!" She hisses and snatches her hand back as his fingers fumble at the medical tape. "It's fine."

"It is _not fine._ " He holds up his slick, dark fingers. "You're bleeding. You probably need stitches."

"I just need to re-wrap it." Beckett turns away from him, awkwardly rolling to her knees. Blood seeps past the cuff of her jacket. Her jeans are smeared with dark patches. She sways like the dead grass is swimming before her eyes.

"Kate, you're shaking." Castle hovers over her shoulder, not quite daring to touch her again.

"I just need a minute." She bites through her teeth, glaring at him from behind the tendrils of hair the wind has teased free of her ponytail. "And some air."

He pulls away as if she's burned him, sitting back on his heels. He looks away, and his hands are half way through an apologetic gesture when he suddenly changes his mind. "Time out!" he barks, bringing one palm down on his fingertips.

Surprised, Beckett sits back, mirroring his pose. "Time out?"

"Time. Out." His hands drop to his thighs. He looks away, and the words come pouring out. "I have been doing the right thing. Because I want you to be ok. And I know that I can't make you ok. So I've been giving you space and I've been giving you time, and right now, I want a time out so I can do some _basic fucking first aid and not watch you bleed to death._ " The outburst is over almost as soon as it starts. He looks up to see her staring, eyes wide, mouth working silently. And, once again, the urge to kick himself looms, but he can't quite keep from adding, "Again."

She doesn't say a word, but she also doesn't look away. He holds out one hand. "Just let . . . just let me patch that up, Beckett."

Beckett is silent a minute longer, and when she does speak, he can barely hear her, "Ok. Time out." She reaches out with her good hand, then pulls it back. She folds her fingers hard against her thigh to stop the shaking.

Castle eases to a crouch at her side, sliding a hand under her elbow. "It's ok. I've got you."

She nods and leans on him, making her way slowly, slowly to her feet. "There's a kit in my car."

"Lead the way." With one hand still on her elbow, he slips an arm around her waist.

Beckett stops, her head swiveling toward him. He leans in to whisper in her ear. "It's a time out, detective. Let's go."

* * *

 

Beckett slides into the driver's seat and slips the key into the ignition. She cranks the heat and hunches into her jacket as Castle fishes under the passenger seat for the first aid kit. "I don't think there's any gauze wrap left, but there should be big enough . . ."

"I check and restock twice a month." Castle gives her a pitying look as he holds up a roll of gauze.

"Um . . ." Beckett blinks.

"You're not to be trusted with your own health, Beckett." He winces as he peels the blood-soaked bandage away to reveal a jagged gash. "Obviously."

"It's not as bad as it looks," she says, sucking in a breath as he tugs to pull a bit of stubborn tape free.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispers, brushing his fingers over her palm in apology. "I think there's glass in here, Kate. I think we should . . ."

"I am _not_ going to the emergency room." She clenched her teeth. "There's tweezers."

Castle opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again as he meets her eyes. "This is going to hurt," he says, grimly pulling the tweezers from the kit. "And I'll need some light."

Beckett fumbles for the dome light. Castle flips the arm rest up and scoots closer, propping her arm against his knee. "How did it happen?"

She looks up at him, but his eyes are on his work. "I broke something." She grunts slightly as the tweezers tug unpleasantly at the flap of skin. "A bottle."

"You know, it's interesting." He pulls a small shard free and drops it in the lid of the first aid kit, then rubs his thumb across her palm. "Ready?"

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "What's interesting?"

"Alcohol." Castle dips his head closer to the wound, frowning in concentration. "Can actually trigger panic attacks."

"Yeah, I know." She blushes, "Castle, I . . ."

"See, I _didn't_ know that." Another shard hits the lid with a faint _tink._  "Until this summer. It seems like it would help, but no."

He meet her eyes. She doesn't look away. "It does. Seem like it should, I mean."

"I scared the hell out of Alexis." The fingers of his free hand slide up to her shoulder. "She thought I was having a heart attack. I wouldn't let her take me to the hospital. Wouldn't let her call anyone. I was just . . . frozen."

"It's like someone's sitting on my chest." She says quietly. "Was . . . Alexis furious?"

"No, not furious." He smiles wanly. "Well a little furious. Sometimes. But mostly terrified. That was worse." His hand drops from her shoulder and goes back to work with the tweezers.

"Much worse." Her eyes follow the quick, neat motions of his fingers. "I can do furious."

"Don't have to tell me," he mutters. "I think that's all of it. Hand me a couple of those alcohol pads."

Beckett pulls her hand away. "They sting!"

"Beckett, are you _pouting_?"

"I do _not_ pout, Castle." She thrusts her hand back toward him.

"Well, not usually." He grins down at her hand in his and tears open the package. "But it's time out. So if you wanted to pout, or cry, or . . . And this is just an example . . . throw yourself into my arms seeking comfort, now would be the time. Out."

Her cheeks flush and the breath she huffs out had distinctly giggle-like qualities. "I think I'm good, Castle."

"Suit yourself." He's still smiling as he presses a gauze pad to the cut and secures it loosely with a length from the roll. He tapes the ends and holds her wrist up to the light to assess his work. "Better?"

Beckett flexes her wrist gingerly. "Better. Thank you."

"Any time," he says softly. "So. Time out over, I'll just let . . ."

"Time out!" It comes out louder than she intends it. Her cheeks flush again as she leans in and kisses him on the lips, hard, quick, and awkward.

"Buh . . ." Castle blinks rapidly.

Laughter bubbles up in her, light and easy like it hasn't for so, _so_ long and he knows she loves to leave him speechless _._ She leans in again. This time, he'ss there to meet her. His hand slides inside her collar, warm and searching. She's holding tight (clinging really) to his shoulder. It isn't awkward at all this time. In fact, it's quite problematically not awkward at all.

Beckett makes a soft noise that might be alarm. Castle breaks the kiss abruptly, his hands still trailing down her neck, tracing the outline of her ear, "Are you . . . Okay?" His voice actually cracks.

She smiles and leans in for one more quick kiss. This time in the slightly ( _only slightly_ ) safer region of his cheek. "No, I'm not okay. But I'm working on it."

He nods, but doesn't let her go.

"So. Time out . . . "

"Wait." Castle dips his head to look her in the eye. "Kate, I'll do the right thing. I'll give you space." He grimaces a little, but his face softens again as he goes on. "And I'll wait. But don't ask me to watch you hurt yourself. I can't do it. "

She twists a little to break eye contact, but he holds her fast. She starts to say something, then stops. She draws in a deep breath and meets his eyes again. "Ok. I'll do my best."

"Good," he says simply, his hands dropping away, "Good."

"Good," she repeats. "So how about I bring that IOU down to 99 coffees."

Castle stays close a moment and brushes his fingers over her bandage before sliding back into the passenger seat and fastening his seat belt. "Only if you're sure about the throwing yourself into my arms for comfort thing."

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Coffee. For now."

**Author's Note:**

> I teach forensic anthropology, and one of my students, who suddenly and tragically lost a parent about a year before taking the class, came to tell me that learning about what happens to the body after death had become a valuable coping mechanism that helped to make sense of the the loss. Beckett's obviously borrowing from that conversation here.


End file.
